


Delicious Denials

by DeVereWinterton



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s03e01 Death Defying Feats, F/M, First Time, Friendship/Love, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Love, Pajamas & Sleepwear, Pillowtalk but not quite, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sleepovers, Smut, pyjama party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-23 04:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13182672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: What if the 'pyjamas-conversation' in 'Death Defying Feats' had not taken place in a hallway, but somewhere else entirely? Would it still be hot? I like to think it would.





	1. A sleepy seduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since I got laid off work last week I've been suffering from bouts of insomnia. But not to worry, as it causes me to write like a madwoman and I love it. Anywho, sailing off on the S.S. Phrack! This little plotbunny turned into a big ol' beast and I'm not sure what is happening.  
> -DVW

_'For some must watch, while some must sleep. So runs the world away.’_

― William Shakespeare, Hamlet

****

‘Lovely’, she thought somewhat sarcastically, ‘seduces me when he’s out like a light.’

Opening her eyes, squinting as she adjusted to the darkness surrounding her, she snuggled back into the comforting and warm embrace of one Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. She was nothing if not an opportunist and decided to relish this moment.

She’d wanted to make sure she would rise before he would, as to avoid any awkward situations, mainly keeping his wellbeing in mind. Because, well, frankly, she’d seen it all before and quite often at that, but she figured Jack would probably be very uncomfortable upon finding her fast asleep next to him. Even though it was _her_ bed and he’d managed to pass out last night, due to a wrongful and utterly ridiculous assumption.

Leave it to the man himself to create said awkward situation all on his own. She made a mental note to never again consider his sensibilities in the foreseeable future.

It figured, though. Jack would never be so bold and brazen when awake, but she’d suspected for quite some time now that his desires were just below the surface, trying to get out. Past the stern exterior of the dour Detective Inspector she’d come to know so well. She’d been patiently (and impatiently) scratching the surface, trying to get past the veneer that was his outer persona. She’d caught glimpses of it every now and again, and it made her want to know even more. He truly was a never-ending source of mystery.

It was just such a pity, really, that he was currently fast asleep whilst effectively spooning her, his right arm draped across her midriff, pulling her back into his firm chest and keeping her there. Softly snoring for good measure. Normally not one for cuddling, at least not often, she felt strangely comfortable and safe in his arms, the warmth of his breath on her neck and shoulder reassuring, the silk of his pyjamas soft against the bare skin of her back. She had thrown on a peach-coloured silk short nightdress with thin straps for good measure (although she preferred to sleep _au naturel_ ), but she never wore any underwear to bed and she wasn’t about to start now.

Speaking of which...Stripping Jack down to nothing _but_ his underwear had been one of the most erotic experiences of her life, and she hadn’t even been trying to make it anywhere near remotely sexual. Hell, he’d been passed out and was hardly actively participating or even cooperating.

Ridding an unconscious man of his clothing proved to be somewhat of a challenge for a single person, but she’d managed until he’d lain on top of the covers of her bed in nothing but his smalls. She’d hesitated but had decided to leave them on. For probably a lot longer than was appropriate, she’d taken in as many details of his body as she could.

His shoulders were very broad indeed, as she’d suspected from the way his overcoat hung from them. Firm, ropey muscles with strong tendons made for a pair of delectable arms. He was muscular, but not overly so and she found it to be very attractive. His hands were rather large in comparison, but it hardly mattered because they looked as though they had been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. Broad palms, sinewy muscles, strong and elegantly long fingers. She knew his fingertips were slightly callused, betraying the profession of a man who got down to the nitty-gritty, sometimes literally. His hands told so many stories; they wavered slightly when he was uncertain, they were out of control whenever he got excited, emotional or angry, they fidgeted when he was nervous and hung limply next to his body when he was upset. But most of all; they touched her with a softness and a respect that surprised her every time.

His chest wasn’t all that broad as his shoulders would make it appear, but it was muscular and lean with dark nipples and sparse chest hair covering his pectorals. The light brown trail of coarse hair thickened below his bellybutton, disappearing beneath the drawstring waistband of his smalls. She unconsciously licked her lips.

And while his arms and chest were all things of beauty, his legs truly were a sight to behold.

She wondered if getting him biker shorts as a gift next Christmas would be too presumptuous, too forward, too direct? Then again, ‘Direct’ was her middle name and just the thought of Jack in skin-tight shorts, outlining his strong muscles and other _assets_ was enough to make her drool. If she were prone to drooling, that is, and she was definitely not.

But it would surely be a wonderful vision. She gathered he’d probably have to arrest himself for indecent exposure. She was positive he would look absolutely delicious riding his bike, his muscled legs pedalling to gain speed, his lungs heaving, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, the whipcord tendons in his arms and legs visible due to the physical exertion. The way his gluteal muscles would tighten and release...

Forget about Christmas. Wasn’t his birthday coming up soon?

He wasn’t the largest man she’d ever encountered, but judging from the bulge in his smalls he certainly was larger than average. She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d expected or had imagined before all of this, but she was altogether very pleased with the outcome of reality.

Good grief, he was going to be bloody delicious.

By the time Mr. Butler had appeared, she’d excused herself and had withdrawn to the bathroom to alleviate herself of a certain sudden itch. She would have found it inexcusable and inappropriate to get into the bed with him in such a state, not when he needed someplace safe and warm to recuperate from his oversights. Her little problem taken care of, she’d slipped into the bed on the other side of him, keeping a respectable distance between their bodies.

Mr. Butler had changed him into blue silk pyjamas she’d purchased quite some time ago for just such an occasion. She’d felt like a giddy, lovesick schoolgirl at the time and part of her was revolted by her own hopeful behaviour. Now, however, she was glad because at least he wouldn’t have to sleep in his suit. Or worse, in just his underwear. She was positive she would not have been able to keep her hands to herself during the night.

Not that he appeared to have the same problem at present, she surmised as she rolled her eyes. Stupid, infuriating, impossible man.

She’d simply lain there then, watching him for the longest time. His face looked younger, somehow, when he was asleep, the worry lines in his forehead evened out, his curly hair a delicious mess. She’d wanted to touch him until all the hard planes of his body were soft and yielding to her questing hands. She’d fallen asleep shortly after, thinking to herself that he really was quite possibly the loveliest man she’d ever encountered.

* * *

 

As if on cue, the hand that had been lying dormant on her stomach until now, started stroking her taut belly though the silk nightdress she wore, bunching the material in his hand before releasing it. Questing hands, indeed.

She gasped quietly as he pressed himself even closer to her back, his right hand steadily moving upwards over the silky material until he barely brushed the underside of her breast. His body was so hot against hers and she noted with mild amusement the way in which her body moulded perfectly against his. She rolled her eyes at the absurd perfection.

His hand moved up to cup her breast and for a second there, she lost all ability to think, let alone breathe. Releasing a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding, she looked down at her chest in awe as she saw his large hand encompassing her firm breast. She closed her eyes as he began kneading the supple flesh expertly (and fleetingly, she wondered who had taught him) before pinching her nipple, almost to the point of pain, before soothing it with soft caresses. She grit her teeth.

She didn’t need ask why his touches made her feel as though she was about to spontaneously combust. It was Jack, that’s why. As simple (if only it were simple!) as that.

She really ought to wake him, she thought, alert him to the situation before things got out of, well, hand. But she was curious and intrigued, as well as quite aroused and decided she could let this go on just a little bit longer. Just for curiosity’s sake. _Right_.

Not to mention she had been fantasizing about this in the bathroom mere hours ago.

Her bottom was now unmistakably pressed into his groin, only the thin layer of his pants separating them, and she was pleasantly reminded of this fact when he started a lovely slow grind against her arse. She fought the urge to squirm and move her hips against him, quickly realising she was fighting a losing battle as his hard length pressed at her insistently. He ground against her in a sensual rhythm that was quickly making her lose her bloody mind, his hand grasping hers, holding onto her hip as he pushed in-between the lush globes of her behind, breathing heavily in her ear. She was certain her wetness would leave a trace down the front of his trousers and this excited her even more.

His hand on her hip had strayed further downwards and she only realised this when she felt a warm touch on the outside of her right thigh, moving up and taking her nightdress with it as it went, before moving to the inside of her thigh. Igniting her flesh as he went. She inhaled sharply as he pressed his callused fingers against the sensitive flesh of her inner-thigh; she pushed back against his firm length in response. He groaned softly into her neck, moving his hand from her thigh to her bare pubic bone and all of a sudden flattening the heel of his hand against her uncovered mound whilst rocking his cock harshly into her bottom from behind, nudging the head against her dripping folds.

She couldn’t help the surprised moan that escaped her lips as fireworks threatened to go off behind her eyelids, opening her eyes in shock at her own carelessness. All of a sudden, his maddening movements seized as he turned away from her, his broad back turned towards her, mumbling in his sleep. She felt cold and bereft and chastised herself for it. She was Phryne Fisher, and she did not pine after any man. Not even Jack Robinson.

She faltered.

All right, _fine_. She did.

As he spoke, she realised with a start that him mumbling in his sleep had actually been him mumbling while waking up. Arousal still coursed through her veins but she managed to put a lid on it for now. She turned to look at him, her head supported by her hand, ready to intervene should he become violent when frightened by waking up in an unfamiliar environment. She knew all too well what war could do to people...

* * *

 

He suddenly bolted upright, his elbows supporting his upper body, disoriented and sleepy as he quickly looked around the room, scanning it to discern his whereabouts and any possible danger. Upon noticing another presence in what he supposed - at first - was his own bed, he managed to both look surprised and scowl at her at the same time.

“Miss Fisher?” he asked, his voice still slightly sluggish and rough with sleep, a raspy edge to it that immediately attracted her attention, sending a delicious shiver through her already sensitized body. He ran a decisive hand through his unruly curls, messing them up even more in the process.

She had to remind herself that she did. Not. Drool. It had to be illegal to look this good whilst utterly at a loss. She wondered if maybe she could arrest him later—

“Miss Fisher!” he insisted in a whispered hiss, having turned his torso towards and trying to attract her attention. She snapped out of her reverie.

“Yes, Jack?”

“Miss Fisher... _why_ am I in your bed?” He sounded almost exasperated, as though he’d expected this would happen sometime sooner or later and was now simply trying to get it over with. He sat up some more and she followed suit. He bunched the duvet in his lap, thankful for the volume as his body had obviously betrayed him _once again_ when being in her presence. Even in sleep he could not trust his own anatomy to behave. He had no recollection whatsoever as to how he came to be in this...state.

Wonderful.

“You mean you don’t remember?” she asked, a smile lurking somewhere around her mouth as she purposely avoided looking down, already knowing what she’d find underneath the security of the covers.

She took his annoyed stare and following silence as a ‘no’.

“Why Jack, it appeared you had already imbibed quite a few drinks last night in my absence, on top of which you managed to get your hands on a small glass of a rather strong nerve tonic. As it so happened, you got hit over the head with an opening door and fell to the floor quicker than any fainting lady I’ve ever seen! Although you did say the loveliest things...you know, right before?”

He did know, and his mind started racing alongside his pulse, both heading for that elusive finish line.  His selective memory apparently was conspiring against him. The amount of consumed alcoholic beverages explained as to why he was feeling as though his head had been stuffed with cotton balls. His tongue was as dry as the Sahara desert.

“So we carried you up the stairs and--” she continued, before he interrupted her.

“‘We’ being you and...?” he muttered as she handed him the glass of Mr. Butler’s famous hangover-cure that she’d placed on her nightstand before turning in for the night. She figured he would probably like a drink of something or other when he woke, as she was only all too familiar with the feeling of a hangover. She had been correct in her assumptions, and he downed it all in one go before placing the glass on the nightstand on ‘his’ side of her bed.

“My houseguest, of course! I was going to explain last night, but after your little tirade... _well_...you were in no fit state.” she explained airily, as if this was all a normal occurrence in the daily life of the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher.

Come to think of it; it probably was.

“You _assaulted_ me.” he accused in a raspy growl, his voice skittering along her nerve endings as he leaned towards her.

“I did not. My houseguest assaulted you. Well, his nerve tonic assaulted you first, but none of it was planned.” She placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder, urging him to calm and lay down. He did, albeit grudgingly as she laid down beside him on her side of the bed.

The rustle of silk as her hand touched him alerted him. He glanced down at his body, then lifted the covers to peek underneath them. He raised an eyebrow, then turned his upper body towards her, hovering over her as he placed his right hand on her pillow, left of her head. For all intents and purposes mounting her with only the upper part of his body. The heat of his torso scorched her through the thin layers of their sleepwear as he looked down at her, his expression strained. He was almost too cautious of not touching her with the lower half of his body and her cunt throbbed at the memory of his hardness pressing into her soft behind.

“Who put me in pyjamas?” he asked, barely suppressed frustration at this continuing assault lacing his voice. She could feel his hot breath upon the soft skin of her face and she revelled in his closeness. The tight peaks of her breasts were so very close to his firm chest and they ached at the lack of touch. His eyes flickered down to her chest and she knew he could see her nipples straining against the silk of her peach-coloured nightdress. She fought the urge to push upwards and press her chest against his.

The first move was not hers to make.

“Mr. Butler of course.” she replied breathlessly, fluttering her eyelashes for good measure as his eyes snapped up; she was the perfect picture of innocence incarnate. He breathed a sigh of relief, and that simply would not do at all. She dropped her voice to that sensuous low register, breathy with parts lust and mischief. Her look heavy-lidded as she next addressed him;

“After I undressed you.” Making a point of looking down his body, then back up to his face.

* * *

 

His face appeared to implode under the strain of the multitude of emotions threatening to burst forth. He closed his eyes, unable to maintain eye contact for even another second, before moving away from her body with a muttered groan and laying down on his side, his back to her. No doubt brooding at the thought of her undressing him.

Honestly, the man had been married for goodness sake! Surely he wasn’t offended by her having seen him in his underwear? She had seen it all before, both professionally (as a nurse) and, well, salaciously. She hadn’t even touched him in any kind of inappropriate fashion (although her fingers had itched at merely the thought). Then again, Jack was a man who valued his own dignity a great deal and always appeared before her impeccably dressed. Perhaps she needed to reassure him all had been perfectly decent.

“Jack...” she spoke, tentatively.

He turned onto his back, signalling he was listening, rustling the covers. She had seen him in a state of undress, and even though he’d already seen her in a damn sight less, the thought still unnerved him. It was worrying, mainly because the one thing he wanted, more than anything, was to undress for her. Again and again and again. To undress her as well, so he could press her naked body to his, colliding and merging them into one.

He attempted to muffle his bit-off groan in the pillow, quickly realising his error; it smelled like her, even more so than the entire blasted room. The earthiness of her natural perfume caused any of his still remaining blood to rush towards his aching manhood.

“You have to believe me when I say none of this was planned.” she pleaded softly.

He merely turned his head - from where it had been squashed in the pillow - to face her, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“ _Well_. As you must have been made aware; I _did_ have hopes of someday luring you into my boudoir, although I hadn’t imagined it would happen quite like this.” she admitted with a sly smile.

“I’m sure your ‘gentleman houseguest’ would not approve of me being in your bed instead of him.” he pondered out loud, voicing his concerns, then turning onto his side once more to face her, propping himself onto his left elbow as he looked at her with mild disapproval.

 _Aha!_ So the game was still afoot, then. She rose to his challenge with aplomb.

“I’m _sure_ he wouldn’t. After all, fathers do tend to be rather protective of their daughters. Even mine.”

She’d wanted to discuss the little matter of her father’s return with Jack at a more opportune moment, but the present look of utter shock on his face made it all worthwhile. He appeared to shrink in on himself, embarrassment taking over right where anger rapidly exited the stage.

“Father...?” he managed to choke out, but that was as far as he got, his eyes wide as saucers.

Deciding he deserved a mild punishment for his ridiculous assumptions (and feeling utterly unwilling to go into the details about her father at this moment), she decided to go all in. After all; in for a penny, in for a pound. And she was feeling _particularly_ generous on this night.

“Did you know...you are actually _quite_ the liberal-minded man when you’re asleep, Jack?” she queried, toying with one of the buttons on his pyjama shirt, then raising her eyes to his in unmistakable challenge.

“I’m not sure I could live up to that description, Miss Fisher.” he countered, shifting slightly, feeling ever so uncomfortable at her closeness and the familiarity with which she touched his sleepwear (also, his erection was about to get in the way of things and this thought alone mortified him). She touched him confidently and without hesitation, yet there was an intimacy there that belied the nonchalance and supposed unremarkable artifice of her caresses.

She touched him like a lover might. Like a partner would.

“Well, it wasn’t up there with the liberties some of my...what did you call them? Oh yes, ‘constant parade’ were prone to taking, but it was _very_ interesting nonetheless.”

He was almost too afraid to ask, yet his curious nature won out. Also, he was far too stubborn of a man to let her win this little game of hers, whatever it was that she was currently playing at. Then again, he figured - judging from her ‘cat-who-got-the-cream-expression’ - that he’d already lost, anyway.

“All right, Miss Fisher.” he sighed, conceding. “What did I do?” he asked, exasperated yet wary of the smug answer that would no doubt follow.

“You, Detective Inspector, have very inquisitive hands. I suppose they do suit your personality.” she stated, whilst simultaneously diving her hands under the covers to retrieve his rigid, warm right hand from where it lay on the soft mattress. She traced the lines of his palm with careful precision, holding his larger hand reverently between her own smaller ones as his entire body tensed at the sudden intimate skin on skin contact.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Fisher.” He dismissed her statement easily as he pulled back his hand and turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling, arms at his sides. He felt overwhelmed with the emotions that were running rampant in his gut.

_Just breathe, Robbo._

“Oh Jack, but I’m sure you do! You _touched_ me. And it was quite the...experience, I must say.” she almost squealed in delight at having regained the upper hand, leaning over his rigid torso ever so slightly, pushing herself up on her arms and inadvertently (all right, advertently) presenting him with a lovely view of her cleavage.

Her statement reminded him of the time when she’d accused him of kissing her. She hadn’t been lying then, and he was loathe to admit she was most likely telling the truth this time, as well. He could just imagine his subconscious attempting to have his way with her, after all; it was all he dreamt about these nights (and days). He was, once again, immensely grateful for the darkness, because he could just make out her devious features but was fairly certain it would hide the lovely shade of poppy-red that crept onto his cheeks.

Naturally, she’d caught him staring at her breasts. He closed his eyes, willing his heartbeat to calm down. Surely she could hear the hammering of his heart against his ribcage? Had she no mercy? His restraint was hanging by a thread as he tried very hard _not_ to picture those breasts in his mind’s eye.

He turned back onto his left side, looking at her, his eyes unsure as his forehead wrinkled in contemplation. His sudden movement closed some of the former distance between their bodies, as Phryne had yet to move back to her own side of the bed. With one more shift he could touch his body to hers, tuck her head underneath his chin to kiss her raven hair and hold her close. He could feel her small, hot puffs of breath on his chest through the silk of his shirt and his nipples pebbled with arousal.

“What, exactly, did I do?” he rasped. Part of him feared this next answer even more, mostly because he wondered if he’d actually done something he could never forgive himself for. She appeared to have been fully aware of his actions, having been awake at the time of his pawing and she didn’t appear to be all that upset, though. If anything, the mischievous glint in her eyes told him she probably wouldn’t have minded at all if he’d stripped himself naked whilst asleep and had pushed himself inside of her soft body from behind. This both terrified and aroused him in equal measure.

His cock throbbed in agreement as he suppressed a groan at that mental image.

“Well, you were--” she started what was sure to be an elaborate and colourful epistle on his late night wanderings, as he suddenly cut her off mid-sentence. He wasn’t sure if – given his current predicament - he would be able to listen to her depictions of his onslaught without coming inside his pyjama pants like a callow youth. However, he _was_ all at once sure of what he wanted to happen next.

He pressed his index finger to her naked lips firmly, shushing her quite effectively (if only he’d known this before!), shaking his head. She furrowed her brow in confusion, her face scrunched up, her eyes meeting his as he gazed at her. Time appeared to have stopped as the moment lingered on, heat building between them and igniting, bursting into an inferno in his eyes as her pupils dilated. He ever so slowly removed his probing digit from her lips, his eyes focused on the round shape of her mouth, the slight gathering of moisture on her lips as they parted but a fraction. A bolt of desire shot straight to his groin. She was aware of the lessening pressure of his finger, until it became nothing but a fleeting touch before disappearing altogether. The knot inside her belly somehow seemed to tighten even more at this loss, yet her curiosity was piqued.

He swallowed, and it took every ounce of strength in her body not to lean in closer to lick his bobbing Adam’s apple. His eyes were ablaze with unadulterated longing and her belly somersaulted at the intensity of his gaze, as the persistent throbbing at the apex of her thighs returned in full force, yet she refused to back down. Captivated by what she found in the way he looked at her; a want, a need, a longing so intense she feared it would drown her, if not for the fact that she knew she felt the exact same way, if not more so. She wanted desperately to kiss him, for them to close that final distance in more ways than one, but she refrained.

He could hardly believe any of this was happening and for a second there, he feared he would wake up any minute now. But she was here. More importantly, and probably far more rare of an occasion; _he_ was here. In her bed. And even though this did not diminish the possibility of this all being a lovely but torturous dream, it all sure as hell felt real enough.  

He’d gone out of his way to brush off her advances, had tried to ignore most of her flirtations to the best of his ability (and had failed miserably on most occasions) and had told himself over and over again that the sexual tension between them could simply not be consummated, for a plethora of reasons. At first, his marital vows had prevented him from entertaining such thoughts, although they’d crept in when he’d lain in bed alone at night. But he had steadfastly ignored these figments of his imagination, in order to cement the foundations of what he now considered to be his most treasured friendship.

Once he’d become what he supposed they’d call a ‘bachelor’, it had become increasingly more difficult to keep his desires at bay, especially when Miss Fisher appeared only too eager to up the flirtatious ante. He’d started reciprocating, on occasion, and found he enjoyed their banter even more now that some of the underlying tension had been released. But the tension had already been building for years nonetheless and it had not wavered one bit in its intensity, despite his yielding. If anything, it had only provided him with more insights as to her way of thinking, of looking at the world, of who she was as a human being, as a woman.

He was madly and deeply in love with that woman, and frankly, he’d run out of excuses to deny her or himself the one thing they both desperately longed for.

He took a deep, ragged breath, closing his eyes momentarily as if to steady himself. When – at long last - he spoke, his voice was a deep growl and her body hummed in response to his low timbre. He locked eyes with hers and the smouldering look with which he addressed her took her own breath away;

“I want you to show me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, cliffhangers huh.


	2. An arousing awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be positively filthy so anyone with delicate sensibilities might want to leave the room now and never look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes. I tried not to turn this into ‘perfect first time lovemaking’ (not too much, anyway) because well, first times hardly ever are. And these two have had waaaay too much tension going on between them to be patient now. Also, I love their competitive nature. Dear God, I hope it’s somewhat realistic. 
> 
> I meant to cut this into two chapters, but I hated the way it interrupted the flow. So good luck with that.  
> -DVW

_‘_ _I would like to sing someone to sleep,_  
_to sit beside someone and be there._  
_I would like to rock you and sing softly_  
_and go with you to and from sleep.’_

― Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Images

_‘To love is good, too: love being difficult. For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.’_

― Rainer Maria Rilke

 

Jack Robinson was a man who’d stared danger in the face many times in his life. He’d fought in the trenches, had received death threats and had locked up more people than he could possibly count. He’d been yelled at, trampled on, knocked unconscious and shot at on numerous occasions.

However, upon noticing the positively feral smile that now graced the lovely features of a certain Miss Fisher, he realised he was in way over his head.

He still couldn’t quite believe his own audacity. What had he been thinking, daring his sensual partner in crime? He suspected he hadn’t actually been thinking at all. Well, not with _that_ head, anyway.

He thought back on how he’d come to be here. He had been pleasantly surprised to find her in his office two days ago, bringing him lunch while Miss Williams brought Collins his. They weren’t working on a case together, so her presence had been unexpected. Even more surprising had been her dinner invitation for the following night. They never had dinner together, just for the fun of it. He’d wondered what it meant, yet had accepted the invitation graciously. He, for one, was curious to see where this would take them. She’d almost appeared anxious...as if she’d been nervous? But maybe he’d just been imagining things.

When she’d stood him up, he’d been angry and upset. With what he knew now, however, he realised she hadn’t as much as stood him up, as she had been interrupted. He supposed he could understand her choosing her father over him, as he’d apparently come all the way from England to see her. Jack was a bit wary though. From the little bits and pieces Phryne had told him about her childhood, the relationship between her and her father wasn’t exactly ideal. He wondered if perhaps, her father had an ulterior motive. He filed this question away for further perusing at a different time.

He felt he was skipping past something important here...

Wait.

She hadn’t stood him up! She probably had not wanted to cancel on their dinner, what with the way she had been dressed when she’d arrived at the theatre. Surely she hadn’t dressed up like that for her father? She hadn’t even known he would show up on her doorstep. She had been preparing for dinner with him (and God only knew what else). She had dressed up _for him_.

She’d wanted him to have dinner with her (and possibly dessert) and he’d acted like a jealous, lovesick fool. And yet, she’d invited him a second time and he’d gotten drunk on Mr. Butler’s cocktails and had passed out on her rug.

Lovely.

But surely, her climbing into bed with him meant something? She’d wanted him then, and he was pretty sure she wanted him now. He knew he did. He wanted her with all of his heart, with all of his body and with all of his soul. All of this was enough to send his mind reeling and to inflame the enormous need that had been forced to lie dormant inside of his body.

“Well, I don’t know...” she said, snapping him out of his musings. Looking up from underneath him, batting her eyelashes, her hands toying with the collar of his shirt as she was wont to do with the lapels on his coat.

“Miss Fisher?” Had he somehow misjudged this entire situation? Didn’t she want him after all? Oh dear God, what had he done? And now she would surely --

“Jack, stay with me.” Her voice was gentle as she spoke. “I was merely wondering...what’s in it for me?” she asked him, the sly smile back in place. As he hovered over her, his expression changed from confused to decisive in a split-second.

She could tell he felt insecure about this entire situation, but the way he looked at her made her realise that for the moment, the game had come to a skidding halt; he was dead serious and she suddenly had trouble breathing, seizing her teasing immediately.  
  
The things this man could do to her! It made her want to both roll her eyes at her own behaviour (she was an independent woman after all!) and curl up next to him and never leave his side, here in the safe cocoon of her bed.  
  
He sat back, kneeling next to her and looking down at her supine form. Then taking her right hand, clasping it between his own strong but slightly trembling hands. If at all possible, his vulnerability moved her even more, pulling at her heartstrings. He placed her hand upon his warm chest, underneath his shirt and she could feel the heat of his skin, the coarse hair on his chest, his rapidly beating heart. His eyes had never left hers the entire time and they were swimming with emotion.  
  
"You know." A softly uttered statement, yet it did not waver.  
  
She did know.  
  
Jack wasn't the kind of man to do things by halves: his job, eating, relationships, commitments. This aspect of his personality terrified her but also filled her with admiration for him. They were very much alike in that respect, she mused. They were both passionate people, throwing themselves into every case with an unrivalled fanaticism, defending what they believed was right and protecting the ones they loved. She wore her heart on her sleeve, whereas he preferred to hide his underneath his stern exterior. She suspected this wasn't all due to his job; war made people hide themselves away in order to survive. She'd witnessed it all around her, deciding for herself then and there that she was never going to be like that. This had worked out rather splendidly.  
  
Yet, his rigorous, sure way had always excited her (and not only at times when it would've been deemed appropriate) and it didn't fail to arouse her now. But even more so; it made her fall even deeper for him.  
  
"Jack..." she whispered.  
  
He released her hand, laying back down on his side, watching her as she turned to look at him.  
  
"Now, Miss Fisher. I believe I asked you for a demonstration."  
  
She realised he was leaving the choice up to her. He'd shown her what was on the line for him, even though she never would have questioned it. She knew Jack loved her, was _in love_ with her. The only thing that scared her even more, more so than the intensity of her own feelings for him, was the fact that she now held the power to break his heart in her own two hands (and quite literally, at that).

She couldn't bear the thought of hurting him ever again, not after the whole car accident affair. He'd seemed so... broken. And even though she had been angry with him for giving her up, she’d known her anger had stemmed from something else. When he'd left her there that night in her downstairs parlour, a part of her had broken as well. She didn't realise it at the time, too upset with him and too damn proud to mind her own feelings (probably quite on purpose), but she had never felt more whole, more complete, than when he'd returned to Wardlow for drinks after solving the murder at the University.

They had been close before, but lately whatever it was between them had grown, blossomed and they were by now so entwined she could hardly imagine life without him. She _could_ , if she tried. She just didn’t want to anymore. When he’d come over late at night after taking his ex-wife home, she’d been ridiculously happy. He’d come to _her_. He hadn’t gone to Rosie or anyone else, and she’d been ecstatic. Far too ecstatic for it to have been just another visit from a friend.  
  
They worked well all by themselves, but they were just so much better when they were together. In so many more ways than one. She'd realised this at the time, but right this very second, she felt it coursing through her body with an almost frightening intensity, igniting her spirit.  
  
She wanted him to never walk out on her again. She was fairly certain she would not be able to bear it. She didn’t know what this meant in terms of long-term commitments, as she’d one time promised herself to never commit herself to another man ever again. But this was Jack, and even though she’d sworn she wouldn’t make any exceptions, in her heart she knew that she had and that he already was.

He would never be a part of her ‘constant parade’. He meant so much more to her than that.  
  
It was such a beautiful, fragile thing to feel loved by this man. His heart truly ran as deep as the Pacific Ocean and she wanted to drown in it until the end of times.

* * *

 

Her answer to his unspoken question came in the touch of her hand to her belly, bunching the fabric of her silk nightdress in a similar fashion to his as she maintained eye contact.

“You were pressed up against my back, Jack, when I woke, your arm around my waist. And your hand was doing its best to ruin the silk of my slip.” she told him cheekily, moving her hand over her own stomach, heat building inside of her at her own touch. She’d touched herself numerous times before, but hardly ever with an audience, and none of those people had been Jack.

None of them had ever looked at her the way Jack looked at her right now.

He nodded, signalling for her to carry on, moving imperceptibly closer to her.

“Then, you moved your hand upwards to cover my breast.” As she spoke, she brought her hand up to her chest, his eyes following her every movement as her own eyes fluttered. Her voice nearly broke when she spoke next. “You squeezed it, Jack. And then, you pinched my nipple. Softly, at first, before increasing the pressure...” She groaned at her own ministrations and she felt Jack’s sharp exhale on her cheek.

His warm fingers slipped up her shoulder and hooked underneath the thin strap of her nightdress.

“Take this off.” His voice a mere low rumble in her right ear.

Slipping her hands down to the hem of her peach-coloured nightdress, she sat up ever so slightly to pull it up, over and away from her body, flinging it off the bed to only God knew where. She lay back down, stretched out her body for him, long limbs and ivory skin, a light sheen of sweat covering her, modest but perky breasts and a thatch of dark hair at the apex of shapely thighs.

Jack’s eyebrows nearly raised right off of his face. _Of course she hadn’t been wearing underwear_. She was perfectly lovely and he almost felt as though the painting hadn’t done her beauty justice. She was breathing heavily, a blush adorning her cheeks, her eyes hooded as she gazed up at him, longingly.

He suddenly felt as though he were on fire, his clothing constricting him and he was sure he was about to suffocate from the sheer intensity of his pleasure alone. He felt terribly overdressed. He quickly undid the buttons on his shirt, but he’d only just freed the first two from their holes when she reached up to take over.

“Let me.”

He swatted her hands away, giving her a stern look even though her impatience and desire at seeing him unclothed turned his insides to mush.

“No. Continue.” It was an order and a reprimand all in one. Her inner muscles fluttered.

“You’re a tease, Jack.” she moaned, falling back onto the bed.

He continued freeing buttons from their holes until they were all undone, pleased to note that she’d continued her ministrations at his command. Her hand cupped her own breast, squeezing it firmly and flicking the tight peak of her nipple with her fingers. He quickly rid himself of his shirt and she sucked in a breath at the sight of his chiselled chest, allowing herself to ogle him as much as she liked this time around. He was breathing harshly as he hovered over her, resting one of his legs between her spread ones. She could feel his erection nudging against her thigh, cradling his sharp angles between her soft curves.

“Then what happened? Show me, Miss Fisher.” He brushed his lips against the sensitive spot underneath her ear and she squirmed.

Moving her fingers down and careful not to touch him just yet, she found her own wetness, pushing her digits through her wet curls. Grazing her nether lips, spreading the ample moisture she found there, opening her soft pink flesh to his hungry eyes. Pushing one finger inside of her own heat as she could feel his burning gaze upon her body.

He groaned against her throat, and it nearly undid her.

“And then, oh _God_ , you cupped me, Jack. And you pushed your hardness against my wet cunt and--”

The sudden press of his lips against hers shocked her, halting her ministrations. She lifted her hands to tangle in his messy hair, the smell of her arousal heavy in the air as she threaded her fingers, still slick with her moisture, through his curls. She could only focus on the feeling of his lips against hers, having been completely unprepared for the flood of feelings that now threatened to drown her, pull her under. He didn’t do things by halves, and kissing was definitely one of those things. His tongue found its way into her mouth, meeting hers halfway and drawing it out. He teased her, but wasn’t forceful. If anything, his kisses were making her feel breathless. It was sensual and heady, she realised, being kissed by someone you lo--

Just when she felt she couldn’t take anymore, dizzy with want, he pulled away to press his forehead to hers.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.” It was his Detective Inspector voice.

For someone who normally enjoyed being in so much control in the bedroom, Phryne quickly came to the conclusion that with Jack, he could boss her around in the boudoir any time, as long as he kept using that lovely, indecently low voice. He was proving to be quite the surprise. She’d always worried that maybe she would be too much for him, too wild, too daring. However, it appeared he was just as witty and sharp inside the bedroom as he was outside of it, meeting her in the middle and taking it up another notch.

She kept her eyes on his as she lowered a hand between their bodies, this time purposely brushing along the length of his chest (and noticing his sharp intake of breath with pleasure), before sinking two fingers inside of her dripping cunt. Her eyes fluttered shut as she imagined his long fingers stroking her, igniting her body and setting it aflame. She began pushing them in and out of her body but he hardly noticed, his eyes upon her face in fascination. She opened her eyes, looking down and her muscles tightened around her fingers.

Breathing proved somewhat difficult all of a sudden.

"Jack, take it out." she moaned, and it was only at this moment he realised she was looking down between their bodies, her focus intently on his groin, as he’d been too caught up in the wonderful expressions on her face, so in tune with every intake of breath, every gasped exhalation. Mortified, he noticed his own hand had strayed down to his erection to stroke himself through the material of his silk pants. He removed his hand as if burned, terribly embarrassed by his own wanton behaviour and at having been found out. He made to move back from her, but her soft voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“No, don’t stop...” Was she actually pleading with him to continue his disgraceful behaviour?  
  
His brow furrowed. _Consciously_ touching himself to the image of her pleasuring herself felt like utter debauchery, yet he'd never been more turned on in his life than he was right now. He knew he was blushing scarlet, a beacon in the dark.  
  
"I want to see you. _All_ of you. _Please_ Jack..."  
  
Hearing the Honourable Miss Fisher beg was something he’d never thought he’d hear again after his undercover mission at the radio station.

"I thought _you_ were the one demonstrating to _me_?” he rasped.

 “Please...”

Having her at his utter mercy was so enticing and for a moment there, he faltered. He wanted to draw this out, tease her some more, but he was so painfully hard he felt soon there would be no need to remove his pants as his penis would’ve probably scorched right through them. Before he could change his mind, he grabbed hold of the drawstring of his pyjama pants, loosening the knot and lowering the fabric over his hips along with his smalls, sliding it cautiously over his hard cock, down his knees, using his feet and kicking his legs to remove them altogether, before crawling over her again, mounting her.

“Like this, Miss Fisher?” He stroked his cock with his right hand feeling terribly self-conscious, the weight of his upper body resting on his left arm, next to her head, and she marvelled at his strength.  
  
" _Mmm_ , yes Jack...My _God_ , that is hot. You are so beautiful." she moaned, her eyes hot on his hand as he pleasured himself.

She continued pistoning her fingers into her body, adding a third, her body stretching pleasantly. Her free hand located her clit and she started pressing down in time to her thrusts. Her growing moans alerted Jack, and he abandoned the task at, well, hand, to murmur in her ear.

“Come, Phryne.” Another order, but this time she was only all too happy to comply. The sound of his voice in her ear was just enough to send her body flying into space, floating in the stratosphere amongst the stars. Her back arched and her body stilled as she opened her mouth, a strangled cry falling from her lips as her toes curled into the sheets. It was one of, if not _the_ most glorious thing he'd ever witnessed in his life. Her chest pressed up against his and it took all of his self-control not to bend down and take one of those rosy nipples into his mouth.

So he did. He took her nipple into his hot mouth, suckling on the tight little bud before biting it. Her whimper urged him on as she pressed her breast more firmly into his mouth. He was so focused on lavishing her chest, that he didn’t notice where her hot, slick hand had wandered off to until he felt it on his rigid cock.

“ _Phryne_!” he pressed his forehead into her left shoulder, abandoning her breast and softly sinking his teeth into her delectable skin. She tasted of summer.

"Is this all for me, Jack? Are you always this hard for me?" she asked him breathlessly, even though he suspected she already knew the answer. She explored him tenderly but impatiently, tracing the vein that ran on the underside of his shaft, softly rubbing his glans, spreading the moisture that was weeping from his slit.  
  
"All the bloody time." he growled as he bucked his hips into that deviously wet hand, realising she'd just turned the tables on their little game by taking over the reins.

He wouldn’t last. He’d known it the minute he’d felt her hot little hand on his cock, burning him and marking him as her own. She couldn’t quite fit her hand around him, he noted with some male pride, but even so it only took two firm strokes of her dainty digits before he was coming with a ferocity that should have unnerved him, a hoarse cry forced from his throat. He barely had the presence of mind to aim his manhood away from her before long, white strands of his essence were pulled from his body, soiling the sheets. His vision went black as the world faded away.

She softly continued to stroke him until he was completely spent, his body limp and heavy as gravity demanded he lie back down on the bed. His back hit the duvet next to her with a thud as he surrendered to the post-coital bliss. She observed him through heavily lidded eyes. He was normally so reserved, her Jack, yet here he was, completely undone before her very eyes. He looked so young, so relaxed and so gorgeous that she was sure her heart skipped a beat.

“Phryne...” he rasped, breaking the silence, wanting to say something, anything, but coming up short. He looked at her instead, not able to keep the love from pouring out of his eyes, his breath, his heartbeat, his every pore. Not even if he tried. He reached for her and she scooted closer.

“Ssshh, Jack. Sleep now.” she whispered, stroking his brow lovingly as she snuggled up beside him, an unspoken understanding between them as they looked at each other. They could find the proper words later.

And so he slept.

* * *

 

He woke up a few hours later, hard as bloody iron and with Phryne draped across his body. She was stroking his chest with feather light touches, their boldness increasing when she realised he was awake. Raising her raven-haired head from where it had been lying on his shoulder, sleepy eyes met eyes full of mischief. He instantly became wary, and for good reason, it seemed. She slipped one of her hands between their bodies to grab a hold of his aching manhood, grazing it with a single nail.

He hissed at the sudden contact.

She kissed him then, but only briefly, wanting to show him a little mercy and most importantly; she was about to lose her damned mind because of this insanely handsome, sweet and wonderful man. His hands came to rest upon her behind, gingerly pressing her down onto his erect manhood and she ground into him, before remembering her initial plan and pulling away, sitting back up, straddling his thighs.

“Now Jack”, she started and by the tone of her voice, he feared things were going to get a whole lot worse for him, before they would eventually, possibly, get better. “It seems only fair that, after I had to demonstrate certain things for you, I now get to tell you about all the things _I’d_ like to do to _you_.”

Ah yes, he was in hell.

“Christ, Phryne, touch me.” he rasped, pushing his hips up towards her. The mention of her first name sent a delicious shiver through her body, yet she would not allow for any more distractions.

Well, not now, anyway.

“I don’t think so, Jack. You wouldn’t touch me earlier, either. Why? Is there a...little problem?” she queried innocently, wriggling her hips and pushing her bottom towards his weeping cock in retaliation.

Well, fine then. If she wasn’t going to touch him, he’d take care of his _little problem_ himself. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Having anticipated this move, but still thrilled by his audacity, she pulled his hand away from his cock, entwining her fingers with his as she pushed his arms down next to his head, pinning him; “Ah ah ah, no, none of that either, I’m afraid.” He could’ve easily broken free, but that would ruin their game, and he was already in way too deep (if only!).

“And you called _me_ a tease?!” he accused, his eyes wild and slightly angry.

She leaned over him, letting her hard nipples brush against his chest in agonizing torture, the coarse chest hair feeling wonderful on her sensitized skin. He groaned as she used her low timbre to speak softly into his ear, driving the point home.

“Well, you see Jack, I want you to _beg_ for it, this time. I want you to want it so much, you can’t think of anything else. That’s how you made me feel earlier, you know? Every time you take yourself in hand after this night, I want you to think about me. About my hot lips, as I wrap them slowly around your magnificent cock, teasing the slit with just the tip of my tongue before sinking down on your hard length...would you like that, Jack?”

His unintelligible groan told her that, yes, he most definitely would.

Surprised that he hadn’t stopped her yet, she continued. He probably liked this a whole lot more than he would ever admit.

“Then, I would slowly drag my mouth up and down until you’d bump the back of my throat, taking as much of you as I could. Perhaps you’d like it if I were to apply some suction, fondled your balls? Or maybe you would prefer it if I were to slick my finger and suck it, before slowly pushing it up your arse. Would that make you come, Jack? I’d love to swallow all of it, you know. Tasting you on my tongue, sucking you dry...”

He let out a guttural moan. She had a tough time keeping up appearances when her cunt throbbed at her own fantasy, his responses, the sight of him...He was surely as aroused as she was, if not more so, and she was sliding down the slippery slope of losing control. His eyes were shut tight, she noticed with mild amusement, and his face was scrunched up with barely controlled lust. A sheen of sweat covered his body and his nipples were just begging for her mouth. He was most delicious, indeed.

She kissed one of his nipples, and his eyes flew open, his hands pushing hers away as he grabbed her hips, trying to move her down towards his groin. She resisted, but only just. The look he gave her was one of pure lust mixed with frustration at her behaviour. She countered with one of her own.

“Jack. What do you want?” she asked him, her voice deceptively calm as her heart hammered against her ribcage.

“You _know_ what.” he grumbled, anger seeping into his voice, exciting her, thrilling her, his hands tightening on her hips.

“How could I _possibly_ know? I just gave you a most elaborate description of what I want, Jack. The least you could do is--”

“Goddamnit, Phryne, I want you to put my cock inside of you!” he exclaimed, before blushing a furious shade of red at the possibility of any of her staff having heard his proclamation. Dear God, not to mention her father!

“See? Now we both know what you want.” she smirked triumphantly, and he swore she was the devil incarnate.

She’d taken care of the little matter of family planning before crawling back into bed with him, waking him from his slumber. She felt positively naughty, using illegal contraception whilst sharing her bed with a Detective Inspector. Not that he appeared to have any objections and she had no doubt that neither of them had the desire to add a baby to the complicated mess of their relationship.

She scooted backwards then, positioning herself over his cock, grabbing hold of the base and steadying him as she ever so slowly sank down onto him, merging their bodies until the lines became blurred. He noticed her hands were trembling as she took a hold of him and it grounded him; she was here, she was real and she was possibly just as nervous as he was.

“Oh, fuck.” he groaned, dropping his head back onto the pillow. Hearing him curse in that deliciously hoarse voice did funny things to her insides as heat began pooling in the pit of her stomach. Her mouth opened in a silent ‘O’.

* * *

 

She didn’t move for quite some time, alerting him as he looked up, softly stroking her hips as he grabbed hold of her.

“Are you...all right?” he asked, worry written all over his face, even though he was painfully hard and sheathed inside of her, willing her body to just move already. Her muscles stretched to accommodate his girth. He was definitely larger than average, she mused with satisfaction, and she felt quite full.

“Never better, Jack, you dear man.” she smiled, and she looked almost ethereal, sitting in his lap as the moonlight illuminated her form, glowing with perspiration, her fringe clinging to her forehead, her delicate pale skin a sharp contrast against his rough, darker tone.

“Am I hurting you?” He appeared quite disturbed at this possibility, concern lacing his voice.

“No, Jack. You’re perfect. It’s just...been a while, that’s all.” she confessed, then leaning over to whisper in his ear, she added: “And you have no idea how happy I am that you’re the one to end my dry spell.” Biting his earlobe cheekily, but meaning every word.

Bucking his hips upwards on instinct, she moaned, sitting back up and throwing her head back, her hands placed on his firm chest. Taking her moan as an utterance of pain, he quickly stilled his moving hips.

“I’m sorry, I--” he seemed embarrassed, apologizing for what was quite possibly one of the best feelings she’d had in a long time.

“Jack, you _will_ be sorry if you don’t start moving.” she threatened while looking him in the eye, lifting herself up until only the head of his thick cock was sheathed inside of her, then pushing back down in one firm thrust until her arse was cradled in his lap.

He gasped for air, his long fingers tightening on her hips in a white-knuckled grip as he pushed up inside of her. A bit of fumbling ensued as both fought for control, but soon they found a rhythm that suited them both. She could feel his thickness, his every ridge inside of her sensitive cunt as he drove all the way up whereas he revelled in the softness, the wetness and the beauty of all that was Phryne.

“Mmm, yes Jack, like that...” she gasped as he bucked up on a particularly harsh thrust down, planting his feet on the mattress to gain leverage. She was fairly certain he wasn’t as experienced as she was but good Lord, he was a quick study. She leaned down to touch her chest to his, the angle creating a delicious friction as he somehow went even deeper than before.

Jack’s content growl agreed with her.

She closed her eyes against the delicious onslaught that threatened to wreck her body and ruin her for anyone else. Her eyes closed, she didn’t anticipate him rolling them over, holding onto her hips until she suddenly found herself on the bottom, her back – damp with perspiration – on the dry sheets. He’d slipped out of her during their tumble and she moaned at the loss, his eagerness making up for his inexperience at the execution. She hardly had time to gather her wits before he turned her over once more, flipping her onto her belly as her face was nearly smothered in a pillow. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she felt his strong hands pulling at her thighs, propping her up on her hands and knees. If anything, his manhandling turned her on even more because it was Jack. And as with everything about the man, there still was something gentle about his touch, even though his actions spoke of a certain urgency. She was surprised at his sudden bold behaviour, but found it only added fuel to her fire.

She looked at him over her left shoulder as he took in his handiwork, his cock glistening with their combined juices as it curved towards his stomach, the head an angry shade of purplish red. He grabbed hold of his manhood, his large hand able to reach around his girth as he stroked himself firmly. Once, twice, locking eyes with hers as he did so, a confidence oozing from his every pore. She groaned at the image he presented, wiggling her arse impatiently, feeling her own secretions dripping down the insides of her thighs.

She inhaled sharply when she felt him stroking the firm cheeks of her arse, palming one in each hand, before placing his hand at her hips. She could feel him nudging at her entrance, his cockhead pushing against her wet folds, lubricating himself.

“You have no idea...how many times I’ve wanted to do this.” he confessed, his voice no more than a low, feral growl. It skittered along her spine and she curved it on instinct.

“Mmm... _Jack_...when?” A sigh as he rubbed his hot length along her drenched slit, then a positively filthy moan as he started pushing in slowly, pulling back until only the tip remained wedged inside of her heat.

“Whenever you’d bend over my desk.” A push, further in this time and she whimpered. “Or when you’d question my authority.” Pulling out almost entirely. “And _especially_ when you sat on my lap in that _damned_ Spanish dress.” Followed by a long, mutually uttered groan as he sank all the way inside of her tight, wet body, sheathing himself inside of her in one long stroke.

She had no idea how he even managed to form coherent sentences, let alone speak, for all she could think of were one-worded gasps and moans, alternating between curses and something that resembled his name as she fisted her hands into the sheets, threatening to tear them apart.

“Nnnghh, Jack... _fuck_!” She felt so full and so tense and he needed to _bloody_ move!

Fortunately, Jack had every intention of doing just that. Just the sight of her, her pink flesh beckoning him, her wet cunt as it had glistened, that wanton look in her eyes as she’d peeked at him over her shoulder...He’d done that to her. He’d done that to the elusive, Honourable, ridiculously generous and wonderfully wet Miss Phryne Fisher. His chest swelled with pride and joy.

His cock swelled from the feeling of her tight cunt gripping him and he quickly decided this took the priority-cake. He hoped this wouldn’t be the last time he got to enjoy all that was this deliciously wicked woman, but if it was, he was going to make the most of it. He grit his teeth, trying not to give into the wonderful heat of her womanhood, staving off his climax.

He quickly established a pace that felt ridiculously good, plunging in and out of her trembling body, listening to her mewls of excitement, changing the angle when she would keen, hitting a certain spot inside of her body that would cause her even more pleasure. He wanted to feel good, but her pleasure was first and foremost on his mind.

“Jesus Christ... _Phryne_...” his strained voice was almost filled with wonder as he watched his turgid cock disappear inside of her welcoming warmth, his length wet with their mingled fluids, her cunt liberally coating him. The jiggling flesh of her arse tempted him sorely.

She figured the view had to arouse him greatly and she briefly wondered if he had ever been allowed to have a woman this way. His pace was a bit rough, but she allowed him his pleasure, realising it must have been quite some time since he'd last lain with another. She could feel his testes slapping against her arse and this notion spurred her on as she pushed back into him, needing to feel more of him as he stroked himself in and out of her body at a demanding pace that would leave her sore, but at the same time left her feeling dizzy with need.

_Smack!_

If she wasn’t so close to falling over the edge, she would’ve surely seized all motions in utter shock. Jack Robinson had just spanked her arse, and she clenched upon his cock.

“I’ve been wanting to do that, too.” he groaned behind her.

“Gods, _yes_ , Jack!” To say his move had been unexpected was an understatement. However, it was certainly not unwelcome. Not at all.

He leaned over her, pressing his chest into her back, all the while pistoning his cock inside of her quivering body. He grabbed hold of her modest breasts, kneading them, pulling at her nipples, teasing her mercilessly. She felt him everywhere, _her_ Jack. He surrounded her and he was inside of her, so hot and hard and loving and perfect and she knew she was falling down the rabbit hole, climbing swiftly towards that elusive climax. She didn’t even realise she was crying.

Pressing two fingers to her clitoris, slippery from their mixed fluids, she circled the tiny bud until she could feel her inner muscles spasming and clamping down hard on his cock one final time before she became completely undone. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave as she came with a wail, not even attempting to smother the sound, wanting him to hear what he did to her and too overcome with raw sensations to care about the rest of the household. Or the world, really.

Aunt Prudence could’ve walked in right that second, and she wouldn’t have noticed, nor would she have cared.

Her arms were no longer of any use as she fell facedown into the pillow, tears on her cheeks as she whimpered in the aftermath of her orgasm. He’d continued stroking her mercilessly through her climax. One, twice, thrice until she could feel him tensing, his nails digging into her soft flesh, pressing himself firmly against her arse and shoving his cock inside of her as he came with a hoarse shout, his entire body taut against the tremors that were wrecking his body as she could feel his warmth filling her deep inside.

* * *

 

To any onlooker it may have appeared as though they’d been fucking, rather than making love, but she’d felt his love for her seep into her entire soul with every stroke of his magnificent being. The tension that been building between them over the past year had caused their coupling to be quite frantic, but not any less loving.

He collapsed onto her back, slipping out of her and taking care to keep most of his weight off of her and her heart warmed at this gesture. He was just so damn considerate, always so correct and she found she adored it. He lay there for a few minutes, catching his breath and she could feel his chest rising and falling against her back, finding is strangely reassuring. He took a deep breath before moving to lay down next to her, facing her as they both turned onto their sides. She rubbed her thighs together experimentally; they were somewhat sticky but she felt deliciously sore.

He tucked her hair behind her ear with such care it almost made her want to weep again, then cupped her face in his large hands. He gently wiped away the few remaining tears before placing a tender kiss on her forehead.

“I love you, Phryne Fisher. _All_ of you.” he confessed as he looked deeply into her eyes, uncertain, vulnerable and searching for hidden truths.

God help her, she loved him too.

No longer denying it, but not yet able to say the words out loud. She looked at him, almost desperately so, willing him to see, to find, to understand.

“I know you do.” he whispered, understanding and smiling softly before tucking her head underneath his chin and pulling up the duvet to cover them both, embracing her and holding her close. It was a perfect fit, and she smiled.

She thought to herself that he was indeed the loveliest man she’d ever met.

She wasn’t going to let him go after all of this. He was hers now.

With trepidation she had to admit that this would most likely make her his, as well.

Whereas before, any small inclination towards commitment would send her straight into disengagement-mode, she realised with a start that none of those feelings were present. She wondered when this had occurred. Then again, if she were honest; Jack had been steadily breaking away at her defences for a long, long time now. If anything, the feeling of knowing Jack would be there for her as she would be there for him provided her with a warm, fuzzy feeling of security and safety.

He wouldn’t change her for the world and she wouldn’t want him any other way.

They would find their own way.

She belonged here, in his arms, and he belonged in hers.

And she was perfectly fine with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya’ll are crazy people. Over the past two weeks I’ve been flooded with the loveliest of comments, a ridiculous amount of hits and many kudos. Naturally, it’s not about the quantity, as this is not Facebook and I’m not desperate for likes :P BUT I love the appreciation of my work, as it is something very personal to write a story and to share it with the world. Well, I know it is to me. It means a great deal to me, so thank you, and a happy 2018 you silly, lecherous lot.


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